By the time you read this a week of lasts will have already begun. A journey that started with fighting off nausea and the corresponding opposite end of the body equivalent will begin to come to an end.
A little more than two years ago I started to journey to work. The first two days were way more than a struggle; in reality a test of wills. A combination of withdrawal flashbacks, a broken air conditioner at home in July, and worry about what I thought at the time would be the last job I’d ever have would be like.
I didn’t listen to Lana on those first two days. More than likely it was Morning Phase by Beck, home to a song that would culminate in a three part blog series. A series that was one of the few I managed to put out during my time at my current job. A job I very rarely could ever stop thinking about, even during weekend, family functions, laying in bed at night.
The soothing melodies of Morning Phase helped me that first day as I contemplated whether I would make it all the way to work or not, my emergency barf bucket in the seat next to me.
I drove and counted the mile markers. I was more concerned about that opposite end of my body, no real bucket for that kind of emergency.. I know, TMI, but buckle up there is a lot more where that came from.
That first drive after I calmed down somewhat and I realised I was actually going to make it, a new wave of nervousness washed over me. The feeling of warmth, heat, panic washing over my body. ‘What will happen once I get there?!’
Well I did. I elbowed my way in on the first morning meeting even though I wasn’t supposed to. In theory I just wanted to get it over with, get in the building. Despite a morning of staring into a fan and trying to get cool enough to get to the A/C of my car without vomiting on the way, I was still very early.
As I worked up the courage to enter the building of my new job the heat and noise of nearby I-80 was broken by a loud, familiar and comforting sound. The sound of a diesel locomotive horn making its way through the industrial area just behind the building across the parking lot. She was dropping off cars at nearby industrial buildings and I thought to myself ‘Maybe I can do this after all’.
That comfort felt like a million miles away from how I started the morning. Laying on the bathroom floor, with my knees in my chest pressing against my stomach, the only way to fight off the panic once it reaches my stomach. I stayed in that position my finger over the ‘call’ button, all set to dial my recruiter and tell her I couldn’t do this ‘thing’ after all.
During the panic of realising I was going to make it to Omaha without vomiting or shitting my pants, I contemplated turning around and calling the boss I had for less than a week at my old job. The whole thing was so crazy surely they’d have me back.
I had been told by my old company that they had made a mistake, had lumped me in with the wrong department and my old job was mine to keep. This was after a verbal offer from my new job and hours before a written offer was to come. I informed my week old boss, one of the few who hadn’t been fired, and he just smiled and understood. He said he was afraid this would happen and wished me well.
I never thought twice about staying. I wanted to go somewhere I was wanted, somewhere that wasn’t so dysfunctional they couldn’t even be bothered to figure out what department I was in before laying me off.
When things change in my life they happen in a flurry just like they did a little more than two years ago. Things remain the same 99% of the time but when things change, they change all at once, and just beforehand a bout of deja vu precedes the sea change.
This flurry was no different. I’m still waiting for a new flurry, a new deja vu bout. I need it, badly.
After the meeting and introductions, my new colleagues, then only two of them in the office and one working remotely, offered to take me to lunch. I passed, leary of a stomach that was still teetering on the brink.
My recruiter called or was perhaps tipped off by the handler that dropped me off. Word got back to my supervisor and thus began a long string of attempted accommodations by my new job to help with something I was battling that I don’t think they ever fully understood.
My new boss said take an hour, drive around, get calmed down. They cared about me, worked with me, treated me like I mattered. That’s why I hung on, perhaps hung on longer than I should have. Hung on until a voice deep in my brain refused one last time, stared out onto the interstate, before returning to the building and resigning.
The third day I can remember how relieved I was signing the direct deposit papers, that way I thought, no matter what I’ll get paid for the few days I survived.
I could go on and on about every moment of my time at my soon to be ending job, but as I was cleaning my car this afternoon in preparation for a week of lasts I knew I had to write about Lana.
Lana Del Rey. The sometimes pouty, sometimes deep, sometimes almost rapping and some would argue overly sound engineer enhanced voice sang me to work during that first summer. As I cleaned out my car I made the decision that I’d listen to her during my week of last commutes. My last monday commute, Tuesday commute, etc.
Fittingly my car needed cleaned out from my last withdrawal based disaster, a road trip with my brother he and I had looked forward to for months. The whole thing came crashing down when I realised late into the night that I had forgotten an important medication and that warmth corsed through my body. My brother drove me home, our hotel room left empty, he understood, supported me, just like all my friends and family during these last two years.
As I threw away the unused second baseball games tickets, the reason for the failed road trip, I wondered if that’s how I could identify with someone who sings about falling in love with a James Dean look-a-like. I could always hear the support of my loved ones in her voice. My wife's voice in particular in her lyrics.
I told you that no matter what you did I'd be by your side
Cause Ima ride or die
Whether you fail or fly
Now I’m calling on Lana one more time. I’ll take her “like a vit-a-min” as I drive down the interstate into the darkness of the unknown.
Life is cyclical. In a lot of ways after everything I’ve been through I’m back where I started. I have a pregnant wife just like I did when I started the job, I had no idea what the future held or if I could handle it.
Not everything is Groundhog Day two years later with me or with the album that got me through that first summer. I discovered the extended edition with eight more songs. Will I mix in those new songs just like I’ll mix in what I learned at my soon to be over job? I haven’t decided yet, but I do know that I will listen to a little “Summer Time Sadness” or the soaring fire works backed “National Anthem” during my week of lasts.
After I come home with my last load of desktop paraphernalia I’ll have nothing but a frantic job search. I’ll be staring down the barrel of a fear that added to the cocktail of worry on those first days. The fear of running out of meds and going through withdrawal. I’m sure I’ll take a break or two to play “Video Games”.
So sing it to me one last week Lana as I drive down the Interstate into the unknown.
